


i'll take you home

by istajmaal



Series: genderfluid!harry verse [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And a bit of fluff, Angst, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Dom/sub, F/M, Genderqueer Character, Harry in Panties, Louis in Panties, M/M, Other, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Safewords, Smut, Spanking, Sub Drop, Subspace, a narrative essay on sexual power and identity, bad aftercare do not try this at home, closeting, genderfluid!harry, panty gagging makes a comeback, well tbh feelings with porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istajmaal/pseuds/istajmaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis pushes harry to her limits, and harry pushes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll take you home

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna front load this DISCLAIMER this time: i don't know one direction or anything about their gender identities. i made this up. it's okay to imagine celebrities as genderqueer. it's okay to create representations of marginal identities when they don't exist in mainstream media. it is NOT okay to claim any definitive knowledge about someone's gender unless they tell you what their gender is. don't assume real!harry is cis because that's what everyone assumes. don't assume real!harry is non-binary because you read this fic and (hopefully!) like it. just, like, don't be an asshole and assume things about people's genders when you have no idea, k? use the pronouns that people who seem like they're in a position to know would use publicly, since harry might never tell his fans personally, but just remember that there could _always_ be more to someone's gender identity than what they are willing to share publicly, and arguing that they _must_ identify as one way or another based on their presentation could really hurt them. so don't.
> 
> this thematically follows up on the previous two genderfluid!harry fics i wrote but could also stand alone i guess? the only background that might be helpful is, like, harry is genderfluid. boom, now you know. title explicitly chosen to make sure i'll never be able to listen to "little black dress" without having a queer emotional breakdown again. anyway.
> 
> WARNING that this fic contains a) bdsm play where one of the participants gets overwhelmed and needs to word out, b) sub-optimal negotiation, and c) sub-drop. more warnings for depersonalization/dissociation, mild substance use, and homophobic + misogynist slurs. fwiw i'll also throw out there that i found writing the argument scenes intensely upsetting (but not because of misgendering, omg if louis misgendered harry intentionally in order to hurt her i would have had to set him on FIRE)
> 
> also, [harry definitely loves rompers.](http://images.urbanoutfitters.com/is/image/UrbanOutfitters/30500102_032_b?%24zoom%24) i know that might be hard for some of you to accept but it is the truth. because harry is a fucking dork.

Louis is intimately acquainted with Harry’s limits. There are several he comes up against almost daily: how quiet Harry can be when Louis’s sucking him off, how long he can hold off coming, how close Louis can get them to being caught before Harry tells him to stop. Harry likes how Louis pushes him, goes lovely and pliant as he lets Louis take him places he could never go alone. He sometimes whispers suggestions into Louis’s ear at night, things he wants Louis to ask of him that have been known to make both of them blush. Neither of them has ever been much of a stickler for propriety, but Harry—well, Harry at his most comfortable has a tendency to push against the limits of what other people consider acceptable behavior, gendered and otherwise. However much he likes to think of Harry as his own, Louis fell in love with a boy who’d get naked in front of anyone.

It turns out, though, that Harry has some limits that are not so much fun to push against.

They’re in a green room that is the same as every green room they’ve ever been in and the conversation is the same as every conversation they’ve ever had with their publicists, but one day Harry apparently just _can’t_ anymore.

“This is _bullshit_ ,” she says. She crumbles her empty water bottle in her hand and looks like she’s considering throwing it at Kate’s feet.

Louis winces. Then he winces at his wincing. Once upon a time, he would have cooed with delight to hear “such naughty words from virgin lips,” scratched Harry’s head approvingly and raised his eyebrow in Kate’s direction. But Harry’s not a virgin anymore (haha, _ha_ ). Somehow in the past year Louis has become the one responsible for talking her down when she’s having one of these days. These days when she snaps at their PR team when they insist on sitting Harry and Louis on the opposite sides of the couch during their interview, when Kate puts her hands on her hips and looks like she might slap Harry and Harry looks like she might slap her back.

“Haz,” Louis says quietly. He pushes his knuckles against Harry’s wrist the second before she looks like she’s about to burst. “Give us a minute,” Louis says to Kate. She hesitates, then shakes her head wordlessly and goes to the coffee table.

Louis glances around to make sure no one’s watching them before he puts his hand to Harry’s cheek. “Hey,” he says quietly. Harry’s nostrils flare as she exhales heavily and puts a hand to Louis’s waist. “I know, love, it’s bullshit, I know, but this isn’t the time to deal with it. Right? Please, just.” Louis bites his lip.

Just—what? Calm down? Louis is troubled by how easily it comes to him, telling Harry to calm down. Louis is the one who taught Harry to swear at people who are older than her in the first place. He tugs at a loose curl hanging by Harry’s ear and tries to smile. One of them has to do this, though. Or else—

Something.

“Yeah.” Harry exhales slowly, runs a hand through her hair and nods. “Yeah, I know this isn’t, like, the time, but.” She puts her hand over Louis’s on her cheek and sighs, eyes still fiery. “There’s just, you know, there’s a bloody limit, isn’t there?” she says. “To how much they can ask us to take. Sometimes I don’t think they think there is.”

“I know, love,” Louis says. Someone they don’t know walks into the room and Louis _hates_ how quickly his hand drops from Harry’s face. “Just. Let’s talk about it later, all right? We need to do this interview now.”

Harry and Louis have been talking a lot about limits lately. Hard limits, soft limits. It’s healthy, to make certain things explicit. Louis wants to know which of Harry’s limits he can push to make her come harder than she ever has, and which limits he shouldn’t touch.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, avoiding Louis’s eyes as she squeezes his hand. “Later.”

Louis wonders what kind of limit it is that Harry reaches when she starts shouting about how if any of their fans are that homophobic they should go suck a dick. Louis doesn’t ask what lies beyond that limit.

 

###

 

When they haven’t had a break in a while, Louis feels like his skin starts to buzz with the phantom weight of cameras and expectations. It’s like when his ears ring while they’re playing a huge arena, only instead of his head hurting it’s just this deep beating _thing_ coursing through his whole body. That low, thrumming, ever-present buzz kicks up a notch the first time Harry asks to be spanked.

“I—I don’t know, H,” Louis mutters into Harry’s hair. They’re in a bed that isn’t their own and the sheets are a little too crisp and that seems to matter. “I don’t… like, it’s one thing to. You know.” He gestures to the side table in a way he hopes conveys _tie you up and make you beg to gag on my cock_. “But it’s another thing to _hit_ you.”

“I want it, though.” Harry talks softly into the side of Louis’s neck, like he’s afraid. “It’s just. It’s like an itch, Lou. I can’t—“ He breaks off and picks at his nails.

Well. Louis knows a thing or two about desires like that, the kind that settle just underneath the surface of his consciousness and threaten to overtake his whole body at any moment. “Okay,” he says, swallowing, “we’ll—okay.”

Harry kisses his cheek and hides his face in his hair for a minute before muttering _thank you_ and he’s so boneless already as Louis pulls him in for a proper kiss that Louis doesn’t think he could ever say no to Harry, wonders if that might ever be a problem.

“How many do you want?” Louis rubs his hands together. It feels menacing, even though he doesn’t mean it to.

“Just—enough to make me… I don’t know. You know?” Harry chews on his lip and shifts his shoulders, looking at Louis from under his eyelashes. “Please, I just need—“ He cuts off like he doesn’t have any words for it, and that’s where Louis is supposed to step in.

“Hands and knees, love,” he says, and he’s grateful for this, for how he subconsciously seems to know the tone Harry needs him to take even when his consciousness doesn’t really understand. Harry lets out a shuddering breath as he complies, his necklaces clanging against each other as he settles his weight on his hands, spreading his legs just far enough apart that Louis can see his cock hanging long and hard between them.

“Why do you need to get spanked, Harry?” Louis’s already naked as well, which usually makes it a little harder to slip into this, but Harry’s whole body tenses as Louis runs a finger lightly down the line of his spine, stopping just above the light swell of his bum. “Have you been bad?”

Harry lets out a whimper that could mean _yes_ or _no_ or just _please_.

“No,” Louis says thoughtfully. He grabs Harry’s cheeks with both hands and Harry lets out the same whimper. “No, ‘course not, love. Look at you,” he squeezes at Harry’s arse and Harry keens, “so eager for me. You’re perfect. You’re so good.” Louis reaches between Harry’s legs and pulls on his cock twice, rough and with exactly the twist that Harry likes. Harry’s breathing becomes markedly more ragged. “’S why I’m gonna give you everything you want.”

“Please.” Harry’s so quiet that Louis almost doesn’t hear him over the blood pulsing in his ears. He moves a little to the left, places his hand on Harry’s right arse cheek, and admires the slightness of his tanned fingers against the pale expanse of Harry’s body, the small, soft roundness of his bum.

It doesn’t always come so naturally to Louis, taking all this power from Harry. He isn’t sure he could do it if Harry didn’t so actively, so _eagerly_ give it to him. Harry presses back into Louis’s hand and gives a small sigh that’s cut off when Louis pulls back and a fraction of a second later lands the first slap on Harry’s arse.

Harry stops breathing for a second. Louis’s hand stings. The evidence of where his hand had made contact with the soft flesh is only the slightest of red tinges. Louis rests his hand on the same spot on Harry’s arse, and he pushes back into it again with a whimper.

Louis slaps Harry again twice in quick succession. The second time, on the opposite cheek, he manages to get his whole bum to shake. Harry’s chest heaves. Louis reaches around to hold Harry’s cock loosely in his left hand while his right continues the spanks.

“That’s it,” Louis says as with the fifth spank the red on Harry’s skin starts not to fade. Harry’s thighs are shaking. Louis dabs at the slit of his cock and Harry whines as precome collects on his finger. “Is this what you wanted, love?” Louis gives Harry a particularly hard spank, pulling slightly on his cock at the same time and Harry _mewls_.

“Yes,” Harry bites out, looking over his shoulder at Louis. His hair is sweaty and sticking to his forehead and his lips are bright red from chewing on them, “ _yes_ ,” he says again as Louis hits him again with just as much force.

“What do you say, then, Harry?” Louis takes his hand off Harry’s cock and massages his bum with both hands, smearing a bit of precome into Harry’s skin. Just as Harry drops his head between his shoulders and inhales heavily to answer, Louis spanks the breath out of him.

“What do you _say_ , Harry?” Louis insists. He takes his hands off Harry entirely in faux-annoyance while Harry catches his breath.

“Thank you,” Harry chokes out, and Louis immediately rewards him with another slap that sends his bum jiggling, “thank you,” Louis hits him again, “thank you…” Harry’s breath hitches as Louis doesn’t let up, keeps smacking him hard enough that his hand hurts and Harry’s bum doesn’t stop shaking the whole time.

Harry acted like Louis would just know, how much of this he would need to get to that fuzzy space he likes to go sometimes, but Louis doesn’t know. He doesn’t—he really has _very_ little idea what Harry’s feeling right now, what it is about this that’s making him start to grunt and pant—it sounds like he’s enjoying himself but Louis doesn’t know if that means he’s doing well or not well enough or if he needs to stop. So, around twenty, just as Harry’s sounds become a near-constant whine, he decides, sort of arbitrarily, that that’s enough. His hands squeeze the pert, reddened flesh of Harry’s bum and he marvels at how easily Harry’s body responds to him, how his skin goes white when Louis presses his fingers against where he spanked him.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis whispers, “look at you, you’re perfect, gorgeous, love you so much.” Harry sinks down to his elbows and presses his face into a pillow, like it’s Louis’s words that have been the thing that proved too much for his arms to handle, and Louis squeezes his arse cheeks lightly as if to say _thank you_.

Harry shudders like a hiccough, pulls his head far enough off the bed to say, “I wanna—“ but then pauses, looking at Louis like maybe he’s done something wrong.

“You can ask, baby,” Louis says, bending down to kiss the vague imprint of his hand on Harry’s arse, “you’ve been so good.”

Harry’s shoulders shake again. “Fuck me,” he mumbles, pressing his cheek against the pillow and arching his back into Louis’s touch. “Just, _please_.”

Louis hums as if in indecision, running his thumb down Harry’s crack and circling his dry rim. Harry pushes back against him and says, _“god, please_ , _Louis_.”

“All right, then,” Louis says. He drops his hand from Harry and squeezes his cock around the base. “You can ride me.”

Harry drops his knees onto the mattress and groans into the pillow. “Thank you,” he says, voice muffled, “thank you, thank you.”

Louis takes the lube from the dresser and puts it next to Harry’s hand. “Open yourself up for me first, love.”

Harry hums. He takes a minute to pick himself up from the bed. When he does, Louis props the pillow back against the headboard and leans against it to watch as Harry kneels, folds over and into himself, closing his eyes as he breaches his hole with one finger and biting his lip as he works himself up to more, his rim blushing red as his wet fingers slip past and through it again and again. In a few minutes he’s fucking himself roughly on three fingers. His eyes open to find Louis’s and he blinks rapidly, lips parting further as he lets out a soft _oh_.

“That’s good, love,” Louis says quietly. “So good, c’mere.”

Louis slides down onto the bed and Harry climbs on top of him, keeping his hands on his own thighs like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to touch Louis. Louis isn’t sure, either. His cock is thrumming with want, though, and he is so, _so_ ready. Louis doesn’t really feel like talking Harry through this right now, he just wants Harry _on_ him. He holds his cock in position and stares at Harry until he gets the hint and sinks down.

“Don’t move,” Louis says when Harry’s full seated on his cock. His hips jerk minutely, because he can’t stop himself. Harry gasps and his hands fall onto Louis’s stomach. Louis’s hands find Harry’s hips like he might lift him up and slam him back down on his cock, and Harry closes his eyes in anticipation, but after a moment more where Louis doesn’t move Harry opens his eyes again and whines, circling his hips.

“Hold on,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s side. “Wanna look at you.”

Harry is fucking beautiful all the time, like a marble statue but with puffy pink lips and fine soft hairs on his stomach, but there’s something particularly special about him like this, thighs spread wide to take Louis’s cock, technically towering over him but looking so helpless, glassy-eyed and breathing like he’s only just learned how, looking at Louis like he’s the one teaching him. Louis swallows. “Tell me how it feels, Harry.”

“ _Good_ ,” Harry bursts out like it’s taken all his strength to hold it in, “good good good so thick so full _Louis_.” He starts to work himself onto Louis’s cock, rocking his hips and fucking himself onto it with quick little motions, keeping him deep. Harry’s walls clench around Louis’s dick and it’s fucking _amazing_ how tight the squeeze is, how much Harry wants it and how much Louis wants to give him it, but. There’s some part of Louis’s brain that feels their mutual desperation and just… doesn’t want to let them have it.

“Stop,” Louis says. Harry freezes, clenches around Louis’s cock again as his fingers tense on Louis’s stomach. Louis smacks his arse. “Off,” he says.

Harry’s shoulders shake with a sob as he inches off Louis’s cock, letting it fall out of him after the head catches at his rim, but he does it. He always does what Louis tells him.

Louis pulls himself out from under Harry and kneels in front of him. Harry looks like his knees might collapse. Louis strokes his cheek. “Wanna spank you some more, love,”  he says quietly, because Harry takes a _lot_ from him but this is edging on too much even for Louis, “want you on your knees. Can you tell me your color?”

Louis takes hold of Harry’s hand and squeezes it once. Harry looks completely wrecked, cheeks blotchy red, eyelashes wetted together with tears, breathing hard like it physically pained him to be taken off Louis’s cock, but he immediately squeezes back. “Green,” he mumbles after a second, “’s green.”

Harry’s slurring his words and Louis knows it’s supposed to have an effect on him but he’s not sure this is it, he’s not sure if his chest is supposed to feel this tight when he thrusts into Harry again and slaps him at the same time. He doesn’t know if he should feel guilty or just good as Harry clenches around him tight and velvety-hot, doesn’t know the word for what it is he feels as Harry comes wet into the sheets without asking permission. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to scold Harry or praise him so he just grips at his hips and tries to say everything with his cock. When he comes, and Harry moans as he collapses onto the messy sheets, Louis feels like maybe he’s done all right.

Louis pulls out carefully, wipes away some of the come leaking out of Harry carefully, settles next to Harry on the mattress carefully, with soft touches, but Harry doesn’t seem fuzzy. He drops his head onto Louis’s chest with a contended sigh. He seems fine.

“That was nice,” he says into Louis’s armpit. “You’re nice.”

Louis hums and palms over the red mark on Harry’s bum. He winces. “Hope you still think so tomorrow,” he mutters. After another minute, “I’m gonna get some lotion or something. Do we even have lotion?”

Louis moves to get up, but Harry puts his arms on either side of him and nuzzles harder against his chest. “Not yet,” he says, and Louis’s stomach lurches with how it makes him feel needed and soft. He pets at Harry’s hair, and Harry preens.

“Like you,” Harry says. Before Louis can think up a sarcastic retort, Harry continues, “Like trying things with you. ’S nice.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. His voice feels far away. “You can try anything with me, y’know.” Louis whispers, but isn’t sure why.

Harry hums, then lets Louis go. “Lotion in the outer pocket of my bag,” he says into the pillow. “Y’know, the weirdly deep one.”

Louis rubs the lotion into Harry’s skin _very_ thoroughly and figures it must do the trick because the next day Harry looks more relaxed than she has in weeks. When Liam pinches her bum and she smiles at Louis dopily, he feels like his ears are ringing.

 

###

 

A week later they’re at their private rehearsal space, blocking the choreography for the next music video. Naturally, that means Louis and Harry are on opposite sides of the room. Whatever. They’re not, like, codependent. When they take a break, Louis spends a whole three minutes attempting to steal a football from Liam before he seeks Harry out.

Harry is having an animated conversation with Lou about the merits of headbands. Louis slips his arms around him and stands on his tip-toes, tucking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. One of Harry’s hands automatically settles over where Louis’s are joined on his stomach.

“It’s all about keeping the hair off my face, right?” Harry says, even as he leans his head onto Louis’s. “And I don’t always like so much product.”

Lou shakes her head woefully. “I’m just saying not all headbands are created equal,” she says. “There are plenty of things we can do that don’t make it look like you raided a thirteen-year-old’s closet.”

“Louis liked the one with the glasses!” Harry says. Louis drops from his tip-toes and has to angle his head up a little awkwardly to keep it on Harry’s shoulder. Harry takes a fraction of a step back towards him.

“I did,” Louis confirms. He juts his nose into the side of Harry’s neck and smells sweat and apple shampoo. He remembers using it to gag Harry while he gave him a handjob in a studio bathroom. “Quite versatile.”

Lou opens her mouth in surprise but then closes it and shakes her head, like she’s thought better of whatever she was going to say. Louis smirks into Harry’s neck and tightens his arms around his waist as Harry’s shoulders hunch like they do when he grins shyly with his whole body. Then—

“Camera guys will be here in a minute,” someone shouts. They’re probably looking at Harry and Louis.

Louis kisses the side of Harry’s neck and drops his arms from him, stepping away. Lou looks at them like she’s not thinking about scarves anymore. When the camera starts rolling a few minutes later, Louis is berating Zayn’s football skills as he runs after a ball kicked right into a storage closet and pretending he doesn’t feel Harry watching him.

 

###

 

 _Don’t look at Harry. Stand up straight. Stop touching your face. Don’t look at Harry. Keep your wrists rigid. You can’t_ not _look at him like that, that’s just as bad. Deflect attention. Joke about it, but not too much. It’s funny, but not_ that _funny. Distract them._ _Deny it. Make them laugh. God, can’t you just look at him like a normal person? Don’t look at Harry._

It’s easy to make fun of it all, so Louis does, if mostly in private. Louis might care about what people think about him more than he usually lets on, but jutted hips and limp wrists—that’s nothing. Louis has never been afraid of people seeing that. If anything, those are the things that let Louis feel the most like he is hiding. Pitch your laughter, swivel your hips, keep them laughing at your antics and hope no one will notice how your breath hitches when you look at a boy sometimes, how your fingers shake and you lose your train of thought. That’s the strategy that’s gotten Louis this far, and it’s worked. Mostly. So he’s heard himself referred to as a “fucking faggot” on a few occasions, which makes him wonder about all the times he _hasn’t_ overheard, but he’s an international popstar, right? He doesn’t need any of those people.

What Louis is afraid of, what makes him feel like a _fucking faggot_ sometimes isn’t how he flips his hair or speaks an octave higher than other boys do. It isn’t how he likes things shoved up his arse or how his mouth waters thinking about the heavy weight of a cock on his tongue. It’s how sometimes Louis sees a boy and _needs,_ so badly, it’s like all of the individual cells in his body are climbing over each other aching to be touched. There’s only one person who’s come close to soothing that ache, and that’s why Louis needs Harry _,_ more than he will ever admit to anyone but Harry—but the thought that people can _see_ it on him, like a brand, how much he needs, makes him want to lock himself in a closet with Harry and never come out.

Harry’s not always a boy, but even when she isn’t, even on days when she’s slut-shamed and misgendered and harassed, she’s better at this than Louis is, this game where they walk through the world and pretend that the girls throwing themselves at them means something other than record sales and packed stadiums and Louis wanting to lock himself away. Harry is who she is all the time, closet or not; it makes the whole world fall in love with her and Louis’s nerves buzz and buzz.

 

###

 

Being on the road for months at a time is hard, but sometimes being home is worse. On the road, Louis always knows that Harry could be dragged away from him at any moment. He’s not happy about it, but he knows. When they’re in their own house, though, the house that he and Harry bought together and brought all the odds and ends of their lives into together, the house they chose together because it had four bedrooms—well, it’s definitely harder to go out shopping with Eleanor and look less than miserable about it when he has to leave the symbolic embodiment of everything he’s ever wanted. But she’s in town for their live performance on the X Factor that evening and they haven’t been publicly seen together in weeks, so no one has much of a choice in the matter, it seems.

Eleanor’s nice and she and Louis are friends, sort of, but whenever someone snaps a picture of them (and they’re _always_ snapping pictures of them, that’s the whole point), his first thought is always that no one’s home to keep Harry from looking at the pictures online like she does sometimes. Of all the things he hates in the world, feeling far away from Harry is definitely in the top five, and so… well, he can’t be held _entirely_ responsible for any decisions he makes in that frame of mind, can he?

“Home!” Louis shouts as soon as he walks in the door. The shopping bag feels suddenly heavy in his hands and he drops it on the welcome mat as he toes off his shoes. “Where are you?”

“Coming!” Harry bounds into the foyer but stops in the doorway, which is… odd. After a moment Louis realizes it’s not the oddest thing about Harry at the moment.

“Love,” Louis says slowly. “What on _earth_ are you wearing?”

Harry beams. “It’s a romper!” She sounds delighted. Louis would like to believe it’s because he’s home, but realistically, the loose black… _garment_ Harry is wearing probably has at least a little to do with it. “Stole it from Gems ages ago but I forgot about it until today. What do you think?” She spins around. It billows a little, not as much as a dress, but _damn_ if that deep v in the back doesn’t make him want to spend an hour sucking lovebites between Harry’s shoulderblades.

Louis purses his lips. “I,” he says. Harry shakes her arse a little at him and looks over her shoulder with a smirk that manages to be ridiculous and totally, _totally_ hot at the same time. Louis shakes his head. “I just. Is it a dress? Is it shorts? I don’t know.” He does his best to sound long-suffering and not hopelessly endeared.

“It’s both,” Harry says, smiling lopsided as she turns back towards Louis and half-curtseys. “I like it. And if you don’t like it you should lie to me or I’ll be upset.”

Louis is pretty sure his endearment is slipping out. Fuck. “I like you a lot,” he says, hand twitching as he fights the urge to cover up the smile breaking out on his face.

“Close enough.” Harry crosses the distance between them and envelops Louis in a hug so tight he’s lifted an inch or so off the ground. “I missed you,” Harry whispers into his ear.

Louis _oofs_ as Harry sets him back down on top of her feet. He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been gone for four hours.” They’re not codependent. They’re not.

“I _know_ ,” Harry groans. She rocks left to right slowly, Louis still standing on her feet, and it knocks him off balance but Harry’s still holding him so close that Louis only falls into her a little and laughs. “It always feels like so long when you’re with her,” Harry whispers in his ear.

“Sorry,” Louis says, laughter not totally gone from his lips. He isn’t sure whether or not it’s just a reflexive apology. He reciprocates Harry’s tight hug for a moment and then lets go, saying, “I got you something.”

“A present?” Harry lets go of Louis enough to pull back and grin at him properly.

“Something like that.” Louis glances at where the bag is lying on the floor and takes a step back towards it.

“ _Love_ a present,” Harry says. She holds both hands out demandingly. “Give it here.”

Louis picks up the bag but before he pulls out the box he says, “I need you to promise me something first.”

“ _May_ be,” Harry says, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, hey.” Louis fingers the handle of the bag anxiously. “I, like. Well. I wasn’t. I’m not sure. If this is good. If it’s okay. _Promise_ me you’ll tell me if it isn’t okay?” Louis swallows. “I won’t be upset, I swear.”

Harry’s childish overexcitement has faded a little, but she’s still smiling. “Hey, I promise, Lou,” she says easily, touching his elbow. Louis opens his mouth, then closes it again, and just hands her the bag.

Harry looks into it frowning and says, “Which is—oh. _Oh_.”

Louis can’t watch as Harry pulls out the pink- and red-striped box. He taps his foot and fights with the urge to rip the box out of Harry’s hands and tell her to forget about it. But Harry opens the box, and—

“These are for me?”

“I, yes?” Louis says, putting a hand to the back of his neck and wincing, “god, I—look, we just, we were at the store and I don’t, like.” Louis examines the moulding on the doorframe by Harry’s feet as he continues. “Shit, I don’t want you to wear them _for me_ , if that’s not, if that’s confusing or you just don’t want to—“

“Shut up, Louis.” Harry’s holding the black satin panties with bright pink lace trimming when she pulls him in for a kiss with both hands. The lace scratches against his cheek as Harry whispers into his lips, “I want to. _Jesus_.”

“Okay,” Louis whispers back. “Okay.”

Harry pulls back and turns the panties over in her hand. “They’re _lovely_ , Lou,” she mutters, tracing her finger over the pink edging. “Why would you think I wouldn’t like them?” Harry’s so earnest that Louis wants to hide his face again.

“I mean, you don’t really—“ Louis tugs at the end of his sleeve. “You’ve never. Dressed up for me? I mean, you always look amazing, H,” Louis puts a hand to Harry’s chest where the v-neck of the romper sneaks down almost to the top of her butterfly, “but it’s not _for_ me, is it?”

Harry’s still smiling so easily, like Louis isn’t skirting the edges of confusing her gender for just some kink, and it’s not his place to feel uncomfortable about that but he does, a bit. “Well it’s never _not_ for you,” she says, elbowing him while continuing to feel the satin in her hands. “And it’s certainly not for anyone else.”

Harry must trust that Louis gets it. She must just _know_ that Louis takes her seriously, that Louis’s desire to sexualize her constantly doesn’t stem from a fetishization of her identity, but from how fucking sinful she looks even when her fashion sense makes his head hurt.

Louis bites his lip and regards Harry carefully. “Actually,” he says, “I sort of had an idea about that.”

 

###

 

They smash the X Factor performance. Really, it’s nearly flawless. There’s only one moment where Louis worries he may have pushed things too far. Right before Harry’s cue in the second song, Zayn smacks her on the arse playfully, and Louis can see Harry’s breath hitch from across the stage.

Harry doesn’t miss her cue. If anything, she seems invigorated by the reminder that under her ripped black jeans, she’s wearing the knickers that Louis bought for her. Her face is lit up all through her solo, and when she steps back from center stage her eyes find Louis’s. When Louis gives her an encouraging half-nod, she tries so hard not to smile Louis’s worried she’ll crack a tooth. Louis’s so anxious he almost misses _his_ cue, but he doesn’t. He keeps it together, until later.

 

###

 

As soon as Louis shuts the door when they get home, he’s sure Harry is about to push him against the wall or drop to her knees. She was so excitable on the drive home, keeping a hand on Louis’s thigh while he was driving and whispering how much she wanted his cock to the point that Louis almost had to pull over because he thought Harry might start giving him road head and get them killed (or worse, spotted). But Louis has had other plans since he spotted those knickers lying on a table in the shopping center that morning and Harry’s never objected to him taking charge yet, so. He puts a finger to Harry’s lips roughly as she reaches for him and she stills, immediately, her pupils dilating a little.

“I don’t want you to talk,” Louis says. He cocks his head to the side slightly and Harry’s eyes flutter shut. She nods just as slightly.

“Want you to go up to the bedroom,” Louis says, keeping a finger across Harry’s lips and settling his other hand on her hip, “take off everything except your pretty little knickers, and look at yourself in the mirror for me until I come for you. Understand?”

Harry opens her eyes and nods. When she swallows all the veins in her neck bulge out. If Louis wasn’t hard already, that might be enough to do it, honestly. That, and how Harry’s gone completely silent.

“No touching,” Louis says as he takes his finger from Harry’s lips. “You know I like to see how hard you can get for me without touching.” Harry’s nostrils flare. “Go.”

Louis doesn’t watch how Harry almost stumbles into their bedroom, like she’s drunk, because he needs this minute to get ahold of himself and watching Harry has never been a good way to do that. He takes a deep breath, palms himself through his jeans, and goes to the kitchen to grab a water bottle and a banana for after before he makes his way to their bedroom, blood still racing a little faster than he’d like.

Harry stands facing the mirror in only the black satin panties, just like Louis told her to, her hands hanging rigidly at her sides. Louis places the fruit on their dresser and moves to stand behind Harry.

“You were really good tonight, love,” he says. He puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders, easing them back from their slightly hunched position so she’s standing up straight. She looks long and broad and _hard_ , her dick twitching where the panties push it against her left thigh, her breath already coming up short as she watches Louis tug at her nipples in the mirror.

“Made me proud,” Louis says. Keeping an eye on Harry’s face in the mirror, he smooths a hand over Harry’s stomach. “Gonna keep making me proud?”

Louis’s hand reaches Harry’s cock and he skirts around it. Harry’s breath hitches. Louis pauses.

“All right?” he says.

Harry nods. “Boyish now,” he mutters.

Louis bites Harry’s shoulder gently, and Harry’s whole body shivers. “D’you wanna take these off, then?” he says, tucking his thumb under the lacy pink waistband. The panties are a little tight on Harry, and the material is scratchy. It can’t be that comfortable. Louis frowns a little, behind Harry’s back so he can’t see.

Harry chews on his lip and shakes his head slowly, eyes following Louis’s hand in the mirror. “Want—“ his breath hitches when Louis circles around his tip where it’s straining against the silky material. “Want what you want,” Harry whispers.

Louis hums. “My Harry,” he says wistfully, his throat feeling a bit tight. He sort of wishes Harry had something a bit more constructive to say, but. Harry gets like this, gets where he’s glassy-eyed and pliant and doesn’t like to make decisions, and since Louis’s the one who brought him here, he can’t complain. He smacks Harry on the arse once, hard, enjoying the way Harry’s whole body shivers. “Want you on your knees, arse up,” Louis says.

Louis meant on the bed. Harry gets on the floor.

Louis thinks about making him move, but the rug is soft enough, he figures. Louis kneels a little behind Harry, his own hard-on getting uncomfortable in his jeans, but he ignores it. He smooths a hand from the top of his arse to the back of his neck, pushing Harry’s face into his forearms. Harry whimpers.

“Color?” Louis mutters.

It takes Harry a minute to answer. “Green,” he says, “green, green, _please_.” Louis traces the edges of the panties on the underside of Harry’s arse and he keens. The head of Harry’s cock is peeking out of the satin, but Louis tucks it back against his thigh.

“Pretty in your panties, love,” Louis mutters. He palms Harry’s arse for a minute before pulling back and spanking him, hard, over the panties. Harry gasps. “But you knew that.” A smack to the other cheek. Harry slouches farther into the carpet, pushing his arse up more. “Wearing them on camera like that.” Smack. “Anyone could have seen.” Smack. “But you’d have liked that, I bet.”

Harry moans as Louis kneads the cheeks of his arse, dipping a finger down to nudge at his hole through the silk. Harry’s fingers dig into the carpet but there’s nothing to hold onto.

“Would you like that, Harry?” Louis says. He doesn’t feel like the words are coming from him, anymore; he isn’t sure that he could even think these thoughts himself without blushing, but Harry’s responses drag something out of him that he didn’t know was there. He spanks Harry again, hard, and barely even feels the sting in his own hand as Harry’s whole body tenses. “Would you like it if I told you to pull down your jeans on camera?” Spank. Harry moans again, stretches his arms out in front of him on the floor like some perverted yoga pose and lays his cheek against the carpet. “You’d like everyone to see your pretty little cock.” Spank. “Hard for me.” Spank. Harry’s eyes fly open and flutter shut just as quickly. “Covered in lace.” Spank. “Making a wet mess of your knickers.” The hardest smack yet, and Harry is slack-jawed and nuzzling his face into the carpet like it’s the happiest he’s ever been. “Answer me, Harry.”

Harry makes an incomprehensible gurgling noise before he swallows and says, “Yes.”

The wide sweep of Harry’s back is pale and fascinating in the low light, with the twitching of his muscles and the light sheen of sweat. Louis can just make out the redness of where Harry’s been hit peeking out from under the lace. “You’d do it,” Louis says, smacking him again and trying to keep the awe out of his voice. “You’d do anything I tell you.”

“Y- _yes_.” Harry stutters as Louis spanks him three more times in quick succession. His thighs are trembling and Louis could keep going with this but he thinks Harry’s knees might give out, honestly.

Louis kneads Harry’s arse with one hand and reaches around to feel his cock with the other. There’s a wet stain where Harry’s dribbling precome onto the satin. Louis tuts. He traces Harry’s rim through the fabric until Harry rolls his face back into the carpet, back arching. “Get these off.”

Harry moves clumsily but like molasses, falling onto his side while trying to pull the knickers over his legs before quickly pulling himself back into his previous position. The panties lie in a little heap on the floor next to him. Louis picks them up.

“Up on your knees,” he says. “Hands behind your back.”

Harry rushes to comply, cheeks flushing darkly for a moment. Once he’s in the position, his eyes trained down on the floor, Louis walks around him once, taking in the pink of his arse cheeks, the way his hair has become a sweaty mess, how his eyes are nearly black with want. One of Harry’s cheeks is reddened from where it was pressed into the carpet. Louis pushes some of the hair out of Harry’s face while he fingers over the smooth satin of the panties in his other hand, the rough lace. The fabric is still warm from Harry’s body, just a little damp from where Harry leaked onto them.

Harry watches Louis play with the material hungrily, his lips parting. “You want it?” Louis says quietly. They’ve talked about it, a few times, but Louis’s never gotten around to actually shoving used knickers into Harry’s mouth. Yet.

Harry nods, looking up at Louis’s eyes and swallowing hard before parting his lips again. He’s practically _panting_. Louis is equal parts turned on and terrified because he’s never seen Harry quite like this, but. This is what Harry wants. This is how Harry likes it, likes _him,_ and that’s enough to keep him going for now.

“Yeah, love, I know,” Louis says. He strokes the line of Harry’s jaw with one hand and feeds the panties into his mouth with the other, pressing the patch of damp precome into Harry’s tongue. “You’ve been so good.” Harry shudders, blinking his eyes closed, and Louis’s never seen Harry cry during sex while Louis’s still got his trousers on but he’s pretty sure those are tears at the corners of Harry’s eyes. But it makes sense, because it isn’t—it’s not _just_ sex, what they’re doing right now, it feels like it might be _everything._

“You’ve been so good, Harry.” Louis strokes Harry’s cheek again, pressing down on the sweet spot below his ear. Harry whimpers. “You remember what to do if you want me to stop?” Louis pulls the panties out of Harry’s mouth and he _whines_ , nodding and _licking his lips_ and looking up at Louis with pleading eyes. “Show me you remember.”

Harry takes a hand from behind his back and taps Louis twice, on the calf. His eyes don’t tear away from Louis’s face. Louis swallows.

“Good.” Louis claps the hand with the panties over Harry’s lips. Harry lets out a low moan that gets stifled as Louis shoves them into his mouth.

Harry has a pretty huge mouth, is the thing, which Louis’s never complained about when it’s full of his cock but now he’s careful not to stuff the fabric all the way in, to make sure that Harry doesn’t gag and that bits of scratchy lace poke out of his mouth. When Louis examines his handiwork, Harry is cross-eyed and his shoulders are slumping.

“Taste good, love?” Louis prompts. Harry lets out a groan that Louis can barely hear, but he can see it in the tensing of his throat. “I’ll bet,” Louis says. He threads one hand through Harry’s hair and scratches his scalp. “Know you love to taste your own come.”

Louis expects Harry’s eyes to close—Harry gets almost sleepy when he’s like this, usually—but instead he’s blinking through the tears that are sticking to his eyelashes, and with his chin angled up to face Louis and his shoulders slumping down, his collarbones stick out sharply. Between the fucking _birds_ inked into his skin and the glassiness of his eyes Louis is—he’s so fucking _fond_ of this boy, is the thing, and that’s really not the proper emotional response to watching your boyfriend get gagged with his own panties, is it, but Harry’s _eyes_ are bright and dark and far-off and insistent all at the same time and Louis thinks that next time he might need to blindfold Harry so that _he_ doesn’t lose control.

Louis squeezes his erection through his trousers and takes a deep breath before scratching behind Harry’s ear. “Lovely boy,” he mumbles, and Harry’s keen is muffled by the gag. He blinks and a tear runs down his cheek but he keeps his eyes trained on Louis like he’s the fucking _sun._ Louis takes another deep breath but it still doesn’t feel deep enough. “Wanted you to suck my cock, though,” Louis says eventually, running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Guess we’ll have to think of something else to pass the time.”

Harry’s whole body shudders and he leans forward so that he’s only an inch or two away from Louis’s clothed hard-on, eyes flicking between it and Louis’s face and mouth opening wider, so that Louis can see where Harry’s drooled onto the satin. “Ah,” Louis says. He drops his hands to his side. “Show me how much you want my cock, then, love.”

Harry shuffles forward on his knees and rubs his mouth against Louis’s cock through his jeans. He sputters a little and Louis pulls back a fraction, ready to pull the gag out of Harry’s mouth, but he gets over it quickly. Harry turns to the side and rubs his cheek against Louis’s erection, _Jesus Christ_ , and Harry exhales sharply through his nose as Louis’s dick twitches, whining muffled as he turns to rub it against his other cheek. Harry’s own cock is shiny and purple and bobbing between his thighs but he doesn’t even seem to notice as he nuzzles his nose right where the vein on the underside of Louis’s dick is _throbbing_ , his lip catching on the fold over Louis’s zip and making both of them groan as Harry drools onto the denim. It’s a good thing they ended up coming up with a nonverbal safeword because Harry looks _so_ blissed-out Louis’s not sure he could form words even without the gag, and _shit._ Louis is _sure_ that this is the deepest Harry’s ever been with him, and that means it’s the deepest Harry’s ever been with _anyone_ —when Harry looks up at Louis, mouthing uselessly at his dick through the wad of panties between his lips, his hands clasped behind his back, his pupils blown wide—Louis’s not even sure he sees Harry there anymore.

That’s what makes him start to panic.

It feels like Harry’s almost possessed, rubbing his face against Louis’s cock like it’s the most important thing in the world to him, and suddenly. Suddenly Louis doesn’t find it that hot anymore. Harry’s cheeks are streaked with tears, there’s drool dribbling out of his overstuffed mouth onto his lips, his hands aren’t even tied but they’re useless behind him, it seems like he’s lost control over his own muscles, and it’s exactly what Louis was going for but it just, _shit_ , it’s not hot anymore, not at _all_ , and—

“Stop.” Louis’s voice shakes. It takes a second for the command to sink in, for Harry to pull away from him slightly, but doesn’t stop looking up at Louis with those _eyes_ … “No,” Louis says, almost tripping over himself as he pushes him away ( _pushes Harry away_ ) and takes a step backwards, his cock throbbing _painfully_ but he’s, _fuck_ , he’s not turned on at _all,_ “shit, _stop_ , I. _Jesus, red_.”

Harry blinks a few times and sits back on his legs. His hands fall to his sides. His shoulders hunch, his eyebrows draw together, his jaw goes slack and the panties, the fucking _panties_ are still stuffed in his mouth, and Louis feels like he’s floating, like he’s not actually connected to his body, like it isn’t _him_ who tugs the gag out of Harry’s mouth so it drops to the floor between them, because it feels like Harry still isn’t with him and Louis doesn’t even know if he remembers how to have a body without Harry, just. _Jesus_. He leans back against the wall and god, the boy in front of him, the not-quite-Harry, he looks so _lost_ , Louis thinks he might actually puke.

They’re both silent for almost a minute. Louis partly wants to sink to his knees to be closer to Harry and partly is terrified of what will happen if he does, so he just presses himself against the wall as his legs threaten to buckle. Harry seems to come into himself a little but he’s still glassy-eyed and boneless and nothing about it is better.

“Is—“ Harry’s the one who says something first. His voice sounds broken. “Okay?”

This is Harry. This is Harry needing him. Harry is confused and maybe hurt and Louis feels the need to comfort and complete him like a physical ache, but. Harry is still so fucking hard, and Louis can’t even look at him. He tugs on his own hair. “Can we just,” Louis says, gesturing to the side vaguely, “bed. I don’t think—er.” He swallows. “Bed?”

Harry blinks for another thirty seconds before he nods. Louis helps him stand because his knees are shaky and red but it’s not Louis, actually, Louis’s somewhere else still. He’s not sure who this new person in his skin is, but he doesn’t have the right to touch Harry. He hasn’t earned it. Harry sits on the side of the bed gingerly as not-Louis curls up on his side of the bed, still in his jeans from the show, and he closes his eyes and doesn’t reach out. After a few minutes he feels Harry get up and walk to the other side of the room, thinks he hears him peel the banana Louis had gotten from the kitchen earlier, but he doesn’t open his eyes to find out if he eats it.

 

###

 

When Louis wakes up the next day, he feels hungover. Harry’s already awake, staring at him from the other side of the bed. Louis’s hands shake but he kisses Harry slow and deep and normal, and he goes into the bathroom without saying anything, and so Harry doesn’t say anything either. They’re busy with rehearsals so it’s easy to spend the whole day not saying anything about it, even though their eyes meet sometimes and neither of them can pretend there isn’t an _it_.

Harry goes home after work while Louis decides to hang out with Niall and Zayn. When Louis stumbles into their bedroom reeking of weed, Harry’s already asleep, curled around Louis’s duvet. Louis doesn’t untangle him from it, doesn’t pull Harry’s arms around him instead, he just jerks off into the toilet and goes to sleep.

 

###

 

The worst fight Louis and Harry have ever had was Louis’s fault.

It was December. Louis was sitting cross-legged on his and Harry’s bed, watching Harry pack to leave him for a week and chewing on his nails like he hadn’t since he was eleven. “I can’t believe you’re just… going,” he said. He wasn’t sure _why_ he said it, even, except he couldn’t think of a single other thing.

Harry didn’t stop rummaging around in the drawers. “I don’t want to,” she said. Pulling out one of Louis’s t-shirts and folding it into the suitcase, she shrugged. “But, y’know. We agreed.”

“Look at you,” Louis said sarcastically, “the voice of reason.” He forced himself to stop biting his nails, putting his hands into his lap as Harry started rearranging the things in her suitcase. He watched her for a long moment before saying, “Are you really not bothered by this?”

Harry stared down into the suitcase frowning for a minute before picking up a pair of socks and balling them almost aggressively. “I still,” she said, “I can’t look at Eleanor without wanting to punch her in the face.” She spoke so quietly that Louis believed her, even though he was sure Harry had never punched anyone in the face in her life. “How do you _think_ I feel about this?”

Louis would spend hours later that week wishing he’d just left it there, but that isn’t what happened. He kicked his legs out so that his feet brushed the side of the suitcase. “You just don’t seem very upset, is all.”

“Well, I _am_ ,” Harry said. Louis hummed shortly and crossed his arms over his chest, training his gaze on the worn luggage tag on the suitcase. His mother had put it there when he and Harry had gone on their first holiday together.

Harry dropped what she was folding. Louis didn’t look up. “Jesus, Lou, don’t—don’t tell me you’re _angry_ at me.”

“Enlighten me,” Louis said, kicking out at the luggage tag, “how am I _supposed_ to feel when my boyfriend’s going off on skiing holiday with some skinny blonde bitch?”

Harry’s jaw dropped open and she stared at Louis for a second before answering. “I don’t know,” she said, working her way towards full-throated anger, “maybe I figured you’d want to _support_ me?”

Louis snorted. “Oh, you’ll have plenty of _support_ ,” he said. He curled his feet back under his legs. “Every tabloid in the world will be there to _support_ you.”

Hurt flashed across Harry’s face and Louis felt a dim, not-quite satisfaction that she looked at least a little like Louis felt.

“What the fuck, Louis?” Harry took a step back from the bed. “Why are you acting like _I’m_ the bad guy here?”

Louis finally made eye contact with Harry. “Why are you just _going_ without putting up a fight?”

“ _Don’t_.” Harry _slammed_ her suitcase shut and leaned on it heavily. “ _How_ can you—“ She tugged a hand through her hair and shook her head. She was still trying to be reasonable, and for some reason that made Louis _seethe_.

“You’re not even _acknowledging_ how fucking _hard_ this is,” Louis snapped. He straightened his back against the headboard.

“You _kissed her_ ,” Harry said, clutching the edge of the suitcase, almost spitting, “you _kissed her in front of me_ , Louis, you think I don’t—“

“So when it’s something I have to do, it’s okay to get angry,” Louis said, and he knew this had become a real fight because he found himself saying things that didn’t make sense, even to him, “but when it’s you, you’ll just pack your bags and go where they tell you—“

“I’m doing this for _you_ , Louis,” Harry snapped. She pushed the suitcase, not hard enough for it to move much, but enough to make the whole bed shake, and took a step back, putting a hand to her forehead.“We _talked_ about this, we _decided_ —I said I’d do fucking _anything_ to be with you, Jesus, why are you _acting_ like this?”

 _“_ What am I _acting like?_ ” Louis swung off the bed and leaned with one arm against the wall.

“Like a fucking _brat_ ,” Harry said. Louis spun around.

“ _You’re_ acting like this is _too fucking easy_ for you.”

“So when you said _whatever it takes,_ ” Harry said, gesturing towards the door, towards the living room where they’d had that conversation in hushed tones, curled together so close they were like one body instead of two, “did you mean _until it gets hard_? That’s—that’s _not_ what I signed up for, Louis.”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_.” Louis gestured towards the door too, and after that he couldn’t stop throwing his arms around. “I am doing _everything I can_ —“

“Well do _better_!” Harry yelled, nearly bent in half with the force of her shout. Louis’s blood rushed through his ears and _yes_ , this was what it all had been leading to, every fucked-up feeling Louis had had in the weeks since Harry had rubbed elbows with that girl on camera, and it was a fucking _relief_ to see Harry as upset as he felt. “ _Fuck_ ,” she continued, “if you don’t wanna come out—“

Louis’s stomach flipped. “Oh my _god_ ,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air, “is it _this_ again?”

“It bloody well _is_ this again,” Harry said, pointing at him with a shaking hand, “it’ll _always_ be this—“

“I want it as much as you do, Harry, but we can’t be bloody _stupid_ about it—“

“You don’t,” Harry said. She picked up a pillow that had fallen onto the floor when Louis rolled off the bed and squashed it between her hands. “You know, I could fucking wait if I knew you wanted it, but you _don’t._ You just wish that all the bullshit would go away. You don’t want to come out, you just wish _I_ could be your pretty brunette girlfriend instead of _her_ , you don’t want to be _the gay one_ ,” Harry threw the pillow against the headboard, “you don’t want to be seen with me, the real me, _you’re_ the one who’d rather keep up this fucking _farce_ —“

“I _want_ to be fucking _seen_ with you, you—what the _fuck_ , Harry.” Louis almost picked up the pillow and threw it back at her. He ground his teeth. This wasn’t the fight he wanted to have. It was maybe the only fight they knew how to have.

“I’m sorry I can’t be your _girlfriend_ , Louis—“

“Oh my god, shut _up_ , I don’t want a sodding _girlfriend_ —“

“Well you’ve _bloody well got one_ ,” Harry shouted, louder than Louis had ever heard her, kicking the bed so that it shook, “so what are you gonna _do_ about it?”

“That is _not_ what I—you _bloody well know_ that is _not_ what I meant, _Jesus_ , you _always_ put fucking wordsin my mouth—“

“Yeah, I _bloody well know_ , I guess that means I’m sorry that _nothing_ I am will ever be good enough for you to want to be seen with me—“

“You’re full of shit.” Louis took a step back and banged his elbow hard into the wall. “You’re just—you are _so_ full of _shit_ right now—“

Harry took a step back, pulling her lips into her mouth and shaking her head. “You know,” she said, “when I met you, I thought you were the bravest person I ever knew.” She laughed almost breathlessly. “I’d never met anyone who made me feel like being who I was was a thing that could make people _like_ me instead of _hate_ me.” She put her hand to her forehead before gesturing like she was pushing something away from her. “But that was all bullshit, I guess. An act, to make other people like you, because you fucking _hate_ yourself.”

Louis looked away from Harry, into the mirror, shaking his head and clenching his fists as he stared at the reflection of the bloody suitcase. “I can’t believe _you’re_ about to go do the straight boy parade in front of the whole fucking world and you’re accusing _me_ of—“

“It’s a bloody stunt, Louis,” Harry said, and Louis hated, fucking _hated_ how she kept saying his name. “It _blows_ , Taylor is _awful_ , I don’t want to go and I _hate_ that I have to but it’s an _stunt,_ it’s _bullshit_ and it can’t fucking touch me, because I _know_ who I am,” Harry stepped back and spread her arms like she was going to take a bow, “even if you don’t.”

“ _I know who I am_ ,” Louis hissed. He clenched his fists again and wondered if there was any circumstance under which he might hit Harry. He took a step back. “Don’t you _dare_ fucking accuse me—just because I don’t fucking _flaunt_ it anymore—“ Louis kicked at the ground “—doesn’t mean I’ve _forgotten who I am_ for a _single second_.”

“I fell in _love_ with the boy who flaunted it,” Harry countered, and _shit_ , Louis had thought they were trading low blows before. “I fell in love with a boy who wasn’t so afraid of what people would think he wouldn’t fucking _look_ at me.”

Louis felt like he had already thrown up and someone was trying to shove it all back inside him. “I’m not _afraid_.” He held Harry’s gaze for a long moment and tried to breathe steadily before throwing up his hands again. “I’m not going to apologize for acknowledging that there are other people in the world, Harry. I just—I grew the fuck _up_.”

Harry took a step back, putting her hands on her hips. “You know,” she said to the ground, “I just thought if I—“ Her hands fell to her sides. “I thought if you loved me enough you’d be okay with it.”

“ _Get out_ ,” Louis said. His voice didn’t sound like him anymore, but he would be hearing it over and over for the next week. “This is my whole fucking life, Harry. You don’t— _fuck_ you, just _go,_ take your shit and go fucking skiing with your _girlfriend_ , keep fucking pretending that nothing’s ever your fault but do it somewhere else because I’m _done_ with it.”

Harry stood in the corner grinding her teeth for a whole minute, but then, she did. She left.

Niall texted Louis later to say he’d come and gotten Harry’s suitcase but Louis had already been too drunk to text back, clinging to Liam’s side in a pub that was crowded but not crowded enough to keep them from being spotted. Later he convinced Liam to go to a gay club, where he’d taken his shirt off and danced and flirted and even almost kissed a couple guys for the sole reason that they didn’t know he was Louis Tomlinson and he knew they were not Harry Styles.

They’d gotten over it. Obviously. Maybe it hadn’t felt so obvious when Harry was gone and Louis spent his nights shouting into phones and his mornings vomiting into Liam’s toilet, but Harry had come home, they’d both apologized, made promises to try harder, and extended the make-up sex period so that it was three times longer than the fight itself. But. No matter how many times Harry apologized, and no matter how many times Louis forgave her and apologized in turn, it didn’t—it _couldn’t_ change what Harry had said, and it can’t stop Louis from replaying the words in his head over and over now.

Because when Harry and Louis fight, _really_ fight, it isn’t reasonable disagreements. In three years together, they’ve gotten pretty good at handling those peacefully. When Harry and Louis fight, it’s because the pressure cooker they live in has boiled over and the only way they know how to prove what they still mean to each other is showing they can hurt each other like no one else. What hurts Louis like nothing else is knowing he can’t be everything Harry needs him to be, and every second he spends avoiding Harry is further proof that Harry was right.

 

###

 

Louis gets the call when he’s pulling into Zayn’s drive the next day. He almost ignores it, because it isn’t Harry’s ringtone or his mum’s and Louis isn’t sure he’d want to answer it even if it was, which is a feeling that he hates getting used to, but. He really just wants to get high without anyone looking at him like he’s a disappointment.

It’s Lou, though, and Lou is supposed to be shopping with Harry and Harry is still Harry so of course Louis picks up.

“Hey, what’s up?” Louis says. He pulls the keys out of the ignition and settles a hand on the steering wheel, hoping this doesn’t take long. Zayn said he had gotten some really good weed.

“Louis?” Lou sounds uneasy and when she doesn’t say anything else for a second Louis suddenly grips the steering wheel, hard.

“Is everything all right?” he says quickly.

“I—“ Her voice becomes fuzzy for a moment like she’s covering the phone with her hand.

“ _Lou_ ,” Louis almost shouts. _Has something happened_ , he can’t bring himself to say—he’d barely talked to Harry this morning, had stayed in bed while he listened to Harry making breakfast in the kitchen, oh _god_.

“Sorry,” Lou says after a minute, “I was just. I was wondering if Harry seemed off to you this morning?”

Louis lets go of the steering wheel and inhales deeply before answering. “I don’t—why are you asking?” Louis had barely said a word to Harry before he left for Zayn’s, just kissed him on the cheek and muttered about seeing him later.

“Harry, um.” Lou sounds distracted. “She came by a bit early and said it was to play with Lux, and. I don’t know, it’s been an hour and there’s paps waiting at the shopping center and she won’t put Lux down.”

“Well, have you tried—“ Of course Lou’s tried talking to her, she wouldn’t call if she hadn’t. Harry isn’t a _child_. “I mean. I don’t really know what to say. Does she seem upset?”

“She seems—“ Lou breaks off for a moment. “She’s just off. I don’t know, I’ve never seen her like this…”

Louis swallows. “Can I talk to her? Please.”

“Just a minute.”

Louis hears shuffling for a minute, then nothing. “Haz?” Louis says after a moment.

“Hi.” Louis gets why Lou called immediately—Harry sounds distracted, almost like… almost like she’s not fully there.

“Harry,” Louis says, as softly as he can without his voice shaking, “how’re you feeling?”

Harry doesn’t answer for a minute. “Dunno,” she says slowly. Then, after another minute, “fuzzy.”

Louis knows what that means, but he doesn’t know what it _means_. “Babe,” he says. His mind is racing and _shit_ , he really, _really_ wants to get high, but he’s sticking the keys back into the ignition. “Are you—what do you want, babe? What do you need to be less fuzzy?”

Louis thinks he hears Lux spit and then Lou’s talking again. “Louis, she’s _really_ out of it,” Lou says. She pauses. “Listen, do you think she, er, took something? I don’t much care what you guys do in your off time but when you’re going to be around Lux—“

“She’s not—no, I don’t think so,” Louis says. He’s already pulling back out of Zayn’s drive. “I’ll be by in twenty minutes, okay, just. Just keep her company. I’ll take her home.”

 

###

 

Louis’s read about sub-drop. When they started doing this thing, he and Harry, he’d done his research, as much of it as he could do without anything showing up on his credit card statements. But he’s never seen sub-drop, really. He’s _careful_ with Harry. Usually Harry’s a little more touchy for a few days after a scene but that’s not a _bad_ thing, Louis thought—it’s part of the thrill of it, how close they are after.

He probably—he _definitely_ should have thought of the effect that his distancing himself would have on Harry, after the other night, but the thing is, Louis’s never really had to think about aftercare much, not when seeing Harry vulnerable in the slightest usually drives him into what Zayn has called his “overbearing mama bear mode.” Protecting Harry comes naturally to Louis, more naturally than anything else they do.

So when Louis sees something like _fear_ flicker in Harry’s eyes when he enters Lou’s living room, when Harry looks away quickly and tugs her goddaughter more tightly to her chest, and it’s _because of something Louis did_ , something Louis _failed_ to do—he almost runs away again because he doesn’t even blame Harry. Louis doesn’t want to see himself now, either. But that’s the attitude that got them into this mess in the first place, isn’t it?

“H,” Louis says quietly. Lou is standing over his shoulder. “H, we’re.” _We’re going home_ , Louis almost says, but he can’t. He can’t just tell Harry what to do like that, not now.

Thankfully there is at least one grown-ass adult in the room. Lou sits down next to Harry on the couch and puts a hand on Lux’s back. “Louis’s called the paps and told them to go home,” she says, and it’s softer than Louis has ever heard her speak to anyone except Lux. “Think you could use a break today.”

When Harry looks up at Louis, he notices that her eyes are ringed red. _Christ_ , but Louis isn’t ready for this. Harry’s silent for a minute.

“Let’s go, love,” Louis says eventually. “We’ll take the day at home, yeah?”

Harry nods at that. Lou takes Lux from Harry’s arms and immediately cradles her against her chest, and Louis almost takes offense at that because Harry isn’t _dangerous_ —fuck, if there’s anyone who shouldn’t be allowed near children, it’s Louis. He doesn’t say anything, though, just mutters his thanks to Lou as he guides Harry out the door with a hand on her back.

Outside, Harry turns towards her car. Louis grabs her wrist.

“Come with me?” he says quietly. “We’ll get it later.”

Harry is still for a minute before she shrugs and follows Louis to his car. Louis keeps his hand on hers as much as he can while he drives them home.

When they’re inside, Harry slouches against the doorframe and tugs at the end of her ratty white tee-shirt.

“‘M sorry,” she says as Louis takes off his shoes. She avoids his eye. “Should’ve. Paps. I don’t know. Should’ve been fine.”

Louis takes Harry’s head in his hands and leans against her forehead. Her hands stay shoved in her pockets. She closes her eyes. “Don’t be sorry,” Louis says. He kisses her on the side of her mouth but she doesn’t respond. “You’re fine. You’re good.” He runs his hands down Harry’s arms. “Harry,” he mutters. _Where are you_ , he doesn’t say, because he isn’t sure he can without freaking out, and Louis isn’t allowed to freak out when that’s what got them here.

Harry exhales and pulls her head away from Louis’s, leaning back against the doorframe. “Made you angry,” she says. She hunches her shoulders more. “Sorry, ‘m sorry, sorry.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Louis says. “Harry, I’m not angry, I’ve never been angry.” They’re speaking so quietly that Louis feels like they’re trying not to wake somebody or something up.

Harry bites on her lip and looks down at the crotch of Louis’s jeans before tucking her chin into her chest. Louis has _no idea_ how to fix this when all he wants to do is take a cricket bat to his own head but he doesn’t have a choice.

“I fucked up, Harry,” he says, and feels a tiny bit better because it’s the truest thing he’s said in days. He kisses Harry on the cheek softly. “Not you, love, you’re perfect.” He gathers Harry’s hands in his and kisses her fingertips but she doesn’t move. “I’m so…” _Sorry_ feels cheap. _Sorry_ feels like _I forgot to load the dishwasher_ , not _I made you feel so alone you can’t function_. Louis swallows. “Come to bed with me?” he says quietly.

Harry tenses, but nods. Louis lets go of her hands for a minute and she starts to undo her jeans. She’s not wearing any underwear. Louis has never been less excited to see Harry’s dick in his life.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis says. Harry looks up and Louis has seen Harry in a lot of states but he has never, _ever_ seen her look _broken_. Louis takes her hands in his again.

“Just want a bit of a cuddle, love,” he says. “Does that sound okay?”

Harry’s hands feel heavy in Louis’s grip. She shrugs.

“I love you so much,” Louis says. _I am so fucking sorry_.

Louis leads Harry to bed, pulls her jeans off and puts her into a pair of his boxers while Harry just watches, leaned back against the headboard chewing on her lip.

“‘M sorry,” she whispers as Louis climbs into bed next to her, “don’t know what I did.”

Louis pets Harry’s chest and leans against her shoulder. “Didn’t do anything, love,” he says. “You’re perfect. Perfect. Love you so much, Harry.”

“Don’t want me anymore,” Harry mumbles, tensing against Louis’s touch. “Why don’t you want me anymore?”

“I always want you,” Louis says. “I promise. You’re not thinking right, love, you’re all fuzzy. Want you to come back.”

“Sorry,” Harry says. Louis has to drag her down to lie across from him, their foreheads pressed together. Harry screws her eyes shut. Louis runs his hands over her.

“No, babe, _I’m_ sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Harry breathes heavily for a few minutes while Louis pats down her hair, and then she cries, and cries, not quiet crying but the kind of crying that sounds like a fog horn or an asthma attack. Louis pulls Harry into his neck so that her tears fall hot against his skin and says _it’s all right, I’m here, I love you, it’s all right_ , and Harry cries even harder, cries like Louis has only ever cried twice in his life, both times into his mother’s lap, both times over Harry, once because he loved Harry and once because he couldn’t love Harry enough. He doesn’t cry now, he can’t, he can’t do anything but hold her until she can breathe long enough to say _sorry, sorry, I’m sorry_ and he says _don’t, don’t, don’t_.

Harry stops apologizing, eventually. Louis doesn’t take his hands off her for what feels like hours, doesn’t stop telling her how lovely and perfect she is, until she stops chewing on her lip nervously. She kisses him twice, her hands on his face, and Louis figures that means she’s most of the way back from where she was, but he doesn’t say anything because the thing he _needs_ to say is caught unformed in his throat. Harry falls asleep curled against his chest and even then Louis keeps smoothing his hands over her back and breathing steadily into her ear.

Louis only leaves Harry for twenty minutes, when he thinks she’s throughly out, to do the dishes that are still sitting in the sink from breakfast and put in an order at their favorite Indian place. When he comes back to the bedroom, though, he finds Harry in the bathroom, putting on mascara. Louis leans against the bathroom door without entering.

“I ordered us some curries,” he says tentatively, not sure what state Harry’s in. “Should be about an hour.”

Harry nods, putting down the mascara and choosing a dark red lipstick from the drawer before her eyes flicker to Louis in the mirror as she starts to smear it on. She’s going to have to wash all the makeup off before they go to bed. Louis doesn’t know how she does it.

“Sounds good,” Harry says eventually.

“How’re you feeling?” Louis asks. He wants to curl up behind Harry, put his arms around her and lead her back to bed, but Harry hasn’t turned towards him since he came in and that means she’s angry.

Harry pops her lips and stares at herself in the mirror. “Better,” she says.

There’s a minute where it could go either way. Then—

“You can’t fucking do that to me, Louis.” Harry has two kinds of angry, and this is by far the worse one, the one where she sounds almost reluctant to yell because she’s so unambiguously right.

Louis looks down and flexes his toes. “I know,” he says, “ _Jesus_ , I am. I am so, _so_ fucking sorry.”

“You _left_ ,” Harry says, like she can’t believe it, “you just _left_ like you couldn’t. Like you couldn’t even _look_ at me, after I—“

“I didn’t mean to,” Louis says, “I didn’t, I didn’t _think_ , I’m just, _fuck_ Harry I am _so sorry_.”

Harry shakes her head. She reaches for the clip-on earrings set on the side of the sink, then changes her mind, gripping the side of the sink with both hands. “Of all the bloody people in the world to make me feel like a _slut_ ,” Harry says, her voice shaking, staring into the drain, “I never figured it’d be the only boy I’ve fucked since I was sixteen.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Louis says, and he hears his voice rising, when did _that_ happen? Louis doesn’t deserve to be angry, not after making Harry feel like he did, but Harry’s yelling at him and it’s just so much. “I’m fucking _sorry_ , Harry.”

“Good.” Harry pushes the makeup drawer shut more forcefully than necessary and crosses her arms over her chest when she turns to face Louis, finally. “I _trust_ you to—I don’t know, take _care_ of me when I’m gagged and on my knees for you? You just—you _pushed me away_.”

“I know,” Louis says. “I know, I just—“

“You wouldn’t even _tell me what I did_ ,” Harry says, “I’ve been spending the past day and a half going over it again and again, you know, I barely even remember what was real or what I just—but I wanted it _so bad_ and you _pushed me away_ , like I _disgusted_ you, Louis, what the _fuck_.”

“You didn’t—that’s not—“ Louis shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Well what was I _meant_ to feel?” Harry’s hands are shaking and she sinks against the bathroom wall, tugging at her hair with one hand. “How was I _meant_ to feel when you _pushed me away_?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis says, and he just, he _can’t_. He can’t keep listening to Harry tell him all the ways he’s fucked up, he can’t even hold up his own body weight, he turns and leans his head into his forearms braced against the doorframe and clenches his fists and doesn’t do anything but breathe for a minute.

Harry’s crying again when her hands smooth over his shoulders, _sorry_ , she whispers, _it just hurt, it hurt more than I knew how to feel, I’m sorry_ , and Louis feels like he should be crying, too, but he just feels dry and empty and too big for this bathroom, for this _life_. Harry wraps around him like a second skin, her arms and legs sticking to the backs of his as close as a shadow, breathing heavy and wet onto his neck. When Louis’s fists loosen and fall to his sides, Harry takes a step back.

“I need you to talk to me,” Harry says. “I need you to _tell me what’s wrong_ or I’m just going to think— _god,_ please tell me you _get it_.”

“Listen, I—“ Louis’s voice feels scratchy in his throat. “I get it. You’re right to be angry, I fucked up, can we just.” He closes his eyes and leans against the doorframe. “Can we just pause for a minute while I figure out what the fuck to say? I just, _I didn’t know what to say_.”

Harry considers for a moment, breathing out most of the rest of her anger, then steps back into him, ducks her head into his neck. “Okay,” she mutters. She kisses him and takes a few long breaths against his skin. “D’you wanna go back to bed?”

Louis doesn’t, really. He doesn’t want to have this conversation in their bed but he also can’t imagine it being anywhere else, so he mumbles _yeah_ and lets Harry drag him towards the bed.

Louis doesn’t mean to make Harry hold him for an hour. It’s not fair, to ask that of her, when Louis’s the one who fucked everything up, but Harry is solid and warm and feels like the day after getting over a bad flu, like the surprise of being able to move without aching. Eventually the buzzer rings and Harry goes to get their take-out. When she comes back she brings spoons even though she hates it, usually, when they eat in bed because Louis _always_ spills something. They eat with their knees pressed together, elbows bumping as Louis tears off pieces of naan and soaks them in curry until they get soggy.

“I feel like you trust me more than I trust myself, sometimes,” Louis says as he watches Harry shovel plain rice into her mouth. Her eyes dart towards him as she chews slowly. Louis dips his index finger into her curry and tastes it. A drop of it lands on the bed. Louis stares at it as he continues. “You—your trust means so much to me but if I feel like if I disappoint you, I might die.”

Harry finishes chewing and swallows twice before she answers. “You don’t disappoint me,” she says.

“Please, Harry.” Louis tears off another piece of naan and rolls it between his fingers. “Look what I—don’t lie to me.”

“You’re not a _disappointment_ , Lou,” Harry says. “You’re a _person_ , like—you fucked up, you _really fucked up_ , god, but.” Harry puts her spoon down and puts both hands in her hair. “I _love_ you, y’know? I get that you fuck up sometimes, I just. I need you to _talk to me_.”

“You say that like it’s so easy.”

Harry shrugs. “It can be.”

Louis picks at the stained spot on the sheet. Harry’s not usually wrong about this kind of thing.

“Everyone needs us to be something for them,” he says after a minute. “Like… a sex symbol or a role model or a devoted boyfriend or what _ever.”_ He huffs and Harry is still, listening. _“_ But no matter how good we are at any of those things, it’ll never be _enough_ because no one ever just wants us to be _us._ ” He flicks at the stain angrily and pulls the sleeves of his hoody over his hands. “Even if we were out, Harry, even if we didn’t have to lie about so much—it’d be, it’d _still_ be a lie, you know, we’d just be _gay_ to some people, and they might hate us or they might love us but they’ll never just let _us_ be _us_.” Louis pauses. “This—I mean _god_ , Harry, I know you want. Like. But doesn’t it _bother_ you?”

“‘Course it does,” Harry says. She pushes her knee against Louis’s. “But, like.” She pauses, then, “I have you, don’t I?”

“You do,” Louis says. He relaxes his shoulders and bumps his elbow against Harry’s before he continues. “You do, but.” He swallows. “When I feel like I might let you down, like when you’re—Jesus. It’s—it’s all of that but _worse_.”

Harry pushes the rice container away from their feet and stares at it for a second. “I never really thought about how you felt about it,” she says. She bites out a laugh. “How horrible does that sound?”

“It’s not.” Louis shakes his head. “It doesn’t. This is my shit, Harry, it shouldn’t be—it doesn’t have to be yours.”

“Your shit _is_ my shit.” Harry has a way of saying things like that like they’re the easiest things in the world. “We don’t—I mean, obviously I like, er, the kinky stuff, a lot,” Harry blushes for a second, “but I don’t… I don’t _need_ it, y’know. Not like I need you. Not like I need you to _be okay._ We really, _really_ don’t have to.”

Louis drums his fingers on his knee. “No,” he says, “I mean, I like it too. The kinky stuff. I like how it—how you get, Harry, it’s really. Beautiful.” Harry blushes again, her nostrils flare and Louis relaxes a little. “I like that I can do that for you,” he continues, “but it’s just a lot, sometimes, when you’re so _open_ and I’m so… not.”

“You don’t need to be open all the time,” Harry says. Her hand finds Louis’s thigh and she squeezes. “You don’t owe them your… everything.”

“I owe you everything, though,” he says to her hand as it rubs circles into his thigh.

Harry pauses. “Do you really think of it like that?” she says.

Louis shifts and knocks over the almost-empty tub of rice. “No,” he says, as he scoops the stray grains into the tub. “Yes,” he says, a minute later, as he snaps the lid back onto it. “I don’t know. Don’t I?”

Harry is quiet for almost a whole minute. Louis holds the rice container in his hands and feels like throwing it into the wall. “All I want from you,” Harry says eventually, “is everything you want to give me.”

“I don’t even know how much that is.” Louis puts the plastic box down and pulls his sleeves over his hands, poking at the hole Harry’s thumb made in his hoody. “I don’t even know if I _have_ that much.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, and she soothes her thumb over Louis’s where it peeks out of the sleeve. “Sometimes I—“ She breaks off, settles back against the headboard and looks at herself in the mirror, rubbing at her eye. Some of her mascara smudges. “It’s enough,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’s hand through his hoody, “no matter what it is, even if you don’t know, I promise you, Louis, it’s enough.”

Harry isn’t wrong often. Not about things like this. So Louis leans back into her and apologizes again and tries to let it be enough.

Later, after Louis gets one of the pillowcases all garlicky and they change the sheets, Louis folds Harry in half and fucks her slower than he ever has, maybe, or at least that’s what it feels like. He pulls out when she comes over her stomach with a cry, but she wraps her legs around him and guides him back inside her with her hands before hooking them around his neck, thumbing circles into his hair and moaning with the oversensitivity until he finishes inside her, breathless, hips stuttering. They stay awake a long time without talking, but they’re holding each other and giggling and that says everything.

 

###

 

Things get better. There isn’t any other option, really, because Louis making Harry drop that low is probably the worst thing that he’s ever done, but it really does get better. They keep their sex on the vanilla side for a while, but Louis is effusive with touches and  praise and Harry preens under his attention, giving just as much back. Once they spend just about an entire day holding hands except for the hour they’re on camera, and Louis realizes that however long an hour feels, the rest of the day is twenty-three times longer.

The break-up with Eleanor has been vaguely planned for ages, but it still feels like a surprise when it finally comes. _It’s getting to the point where people expect you to get married or break up,_ their PR people had said, and Louis had been pretty accommodating of what they’d had to say in the past but an hour after they’d brought up ring-shopping, Louis and Harry both went hoarse and no one speaks of it again. A few planted news articles and deliberately cryptic tweets later and it’s done. Louis feels almost cheated by how easy it was.

The next week they’re on a late night show. For the first time in two years, an interviewer asks them who’s single and Louis lies. He and Harry raise their hands, and neither of them attempt to look unhappy about it.

“Now that you’re back on the market, Louis, is there anyone you’ve got your eye on? Or is it still too soon?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m on the market,” Louis says, smirking as his eyes flicker automatically towards Harry, “but there might be someone.”

Harry coughs violently. Niall pats her on the back with a smirk, Liam grins like he’s in on the best joke in the world, and Zayn rolls his eyes.

That night they bring out the handcuffs again, after the boys take them out to dinner to celebrate and graciously don’t comment when Harry practically sits in Louis’s lap. Harry is giddy on half a bottle of wine when they get home and is so responsive to every one of Louis’s touches that he gets drunk on it, a delicious kind of drunk that it feels like he can control.

“Hey,” he whispers, standing on his tip-toes to nip at her ear while he circles her wrists with his hands, “want me to tie you up a bit?”

“ _God_ , yes, please,” Harry says, turning her wrists up and then biting her lip. “I mean, uh, if you’re—if you wanna?”

Louis kisses her and doesn’t say much else. He doesn’t order her around at all, this time; he binds her wrists together over her head and blindfolds her with the scarf that’s been keeping the hair out of her eyes and kisses and bites and sucks dark marks all over her, until she comes from two fingers nudging her prostate and Louis whispering how beautiful she is into her belly button. She keeps crying for ten minutes after Louis comes against her thigh.

“Was that okay?” Harry says eventually, when Louis’s kissing her wrists and rubbing his thumb over a purplish mark on the underside of her arm. “I mean, for me, it was— _wow_ , I mean, _thank you_ , I mean. It was all right?”

“Pretty brilliant, I thought,” Louis says. He tosses the handcuffs onto the bedside table, not wanting to leave Harry long enough to put them away properly.

“Yeah, cool.” Harry exhales as Louis turns over and pulls her arms around him.

Louis snorts. “ _Cool_.” He doesn’t roll his eyes, but he’s sure Harry thinks he does.

“Heeey,” Harry says, nudging his cheek with her chin. “Be nice.”

Louis hums, leans into Harry so that her knees fit against the back of his, and lets himself feel like he’s drowning in Harry’s arms for a minute. It’s nice. Harry’s nice. He says, “Think I kinda want you to do that to me.”

“What, be nice?” Harry grins into his neck and Louis’s shoulders freeze for a second as they both realize what he’s said. “Oh,” Harry says after a second, “I mean— _oh_.”

“Yeah,” Louis whispers. He takes a deep breath and turns to look at Harry over his shoulder. “If you’re up for it?”

Harry’s eyes darken and she nips at his ear. “If there’s something I’m not up for with you,” she says, close enough to Louis’s ear that he shivers, “I probably just haven’t thought of it yet.”

Louis considers breaking out his laptop and testing that theory, but when Harry’s hand flattens over his stomach and she kisses the back of his head, for once in his life, he doesn’t feel like dwelling on the existence of people outside their bed.

 

###

 

“You sure you wanna do this?”

Louis leans his head back far enough that he can see where his hands are cuffed together over his head, then glances back down at where Harry is kneeling over one of his thighs, naked except for a pair of plain black cotton boyshorts. “I do if you do,” Louis says. He doesn’t mean it to sound as shaky as it does, and he sees Harry’s eyes shift with uncertainty for a minute, but he nudges her with his knee and smiles because he does. He wants this.

“Yeah,” Harry says. Her eyes raking over Louis’s body, pausing at the bright red satin that’s not even close to covering Louis’s cock, pink and hard against his stomach. “Yeah, I—okay.” She swallows, then moves her eyes back to Louis’s face. “I just don’t want you to be, like. Scared to red out. ‘Cause it was bad last time.”

“I won’t be,” Louis says. “I’m not. Promise.” He smiles. “I don’t, y’know—I just want to… not be in charge a little?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Harry says. She leans further over Louis and circles one of his nipples. “I know it’s not the same, I dunno if I could—“ She breaks off and pinches one of his nipples. Louis’s breath hitches. “Just gonna make you feel good,” she mutters.

It’s not like they haven’t done this before. Louis had been the first to get cuffed up, actually; he’d gotten the handcuffs from Stan (because real friends know when to tease and when not to ask, even when Louis himself isn’t sure) and gotten Harry to fuck him until he came untouched for the first time. He’d never not liked it—he’d liked the way that he didn’t have to think, could just trust Harry to make him feel good, and Harry always, always did. It’s just that Harry liked it a _lot_ ; she liked pushing on limits that Louis didn’t even like to think about himself having. Louis isn’t like Harry, isn’t too interested in seeing how much he can be humiliated before he’ll cry, how much he can cry before he can’t breathe, but he is _quite_ interested in the way Harry’s eyes light up when she thinks about how many times she can get him to come.

“Nnnnghk.” Louis hopes that Harry reads that as the sign of approval that it is, and she must because she tweaks his nipple again, and Louis’s legs shudder.

“So _fucking_ beautiful, Lou,” Harry says. Louis closes his eyes as Harry’s hands travel south, running lightly down his inner thighs and pinching just an inch or so away from where the red satin panties cling to the crease of his thigh.

Louis inhales sharply. “Don’t tease,” he whispers, closing his eyes. Does it even count as teasing when he likes it so much, how warm and solid Harry is hovering over him?

“‘M not teasing,” Harry says. She’s not indignant, just… controlled. Harry’s in control. Louis turns his wrists just to feel the cold metal around them and his stomach basically spasms when Harry pets at it, just next to the hard pink tip of his cock. “Gonna give you everything you want. More.”

Louis moans and sinks his shoulders deeper into the bed. Harry keeps petting at his stomach, brushing his cock where it’s poking out of his panties and making Louis shiver.

“How do you want it?” Harry says. It’s been a while, Louis had almost forgotten how dirty Harry can sound when she’s fully in charge of the situation, and his dick twitches as she ghosts her palm over it. “So much I wanna do to you, Lou.”

Harry’s hand teases over Louis’s balls through the red satin and he groans. “Think I’m gonna blow you first,” Harry says. “Get your first load all over my face.” Her fingers trail down to trace over Louis’s rim. “Then eat you out a little, open you up, ’til you come from my fingers.” Louis is squirming now, twitching, like his body needs to move, needs _something_ to happen and Harry hasn’t even _started_. “Then I’ll fuck you ’til you come again. Sound good, Louis?” She pulls her hand away from his arse and squeezes his knee.

Louis doesn’t like feeling demeaned. Harry knows that. That’s not what it is that’s making Louis’s breath come up short. It’s just—Harry just _wants_ him so unabashedly, and. “ _God_ ,” Louis squeaks as Harry teases his nipple again, both of them already hard and pert and waiting. “Yes, yeah, _please_.”

Harry pulls the soft red lace of the panties down beneath Louis’s balls and his cock lays heavy against his stomach until Harry grasps the base gently. “Perfect,” Harry says, quietly, like she’s not even talking to Louis as she kisses the side of the shaft and licks a long stripe on the underside up to the tip, “so pretty, god.” Louis hisses. He’s achingly familiar with the way Harry’s lips feel when they wrap around his cock but that doesn’t stop him from gasping when it happens, when Harry swirls his tongue around Louis’s tip and groans at the taste of his precome. She takes him down more than halfway at once, hollowing her cheeks and only breaking away for a moment before she sinks back down all the way, once, twice, her nose jabbing into his pubes and his cock hitting the back of her throat, _god_. Louis automatically tries to reach down to run his fingers through Harry’s hair but the handcuffs stop him, and that’s just. Louis just.

“Harry,” he says helplessly, and that seems to spur Harry on, her head bobbing up and down Louis’s cock quickly without breaking the perfect suction until Louis’s whimpering her name again, more insistently, _Harry_. She pulls off and pants, licking her spit-covered lips as her hand keeps up the same pace, looks up at him with hooded eyes, and Louis comes for the first time thick and stringy all up and down her cheek, straining his neck to see how it slides down her fluttering eyelashes, how her tongue darts out of her mouth to lap at it on her lips.

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry says, and Louis’s neck hurts from craning it to watch but he can’t look away from how she collects his come from her eyelid with her thumb and sucks on it. “You taste so fucking good, _fuck_.

Louis’s head falls back onto the pillow and he stares at the ceiling, breathing hard. “Spunk doesn’t taste good,” he says. “You’re weird.”

“ _Your_ spunk tastes amazing,” Harry says. Louis hears her suck on her thumb exaggeratedly and pop her lips. “I’d prove it to you but I don’t want to share.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Louis says. He closes his eyes and feels himself floating down from his orgasm lightly. “You just love me.”

Harry hums and squeezes his thigh. “Maybe I love you _because_ your spunk tastes so good,” she says. She brushes a hand over his cock but doesn’t push it when he instinctually shudders. “Have you ever considered that?”

“So all those months pining for me,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows without actually moving to look at Harry, “you just, what, had a sixth sense about it or something?”

Harry snorts derisively. “ _Months_ , come on,” she says, scratching her fingernails against his thigh gently, “I got to taste your spunk after like a month and a half.”

“You did _not_.”

Harry hums, sucking her thumb into her mouth again for a minute. “Might’ve licked it off my hand,” she says casually.

“Oh my _god_.” Louis jerks his knee up to try to hit Harry in the balls but she moves away too quickly, like she’s expecting it. “That’s—I can’t decide whether or not I even want to believe you.”

“Well, believe me,” Harry says confidently, as she leans down and—breathes in the scent of Louis’s dick, or something, whatever, it’s _filthy_. She looks up his body with a smirk. “Always been a bit of a cockslut for you.”

 Louis’s retort is lost as Harry kisses his dick, which has softened but only a little, and pulls the panties back up to cover it. Louis hisses at the pressure of the satin holding him against his thigh.

“Let’s turn you over,” Harry says. She pushes at Louis’s hips and raises an eyebrow. He sighs and rolls over, cracking his shoulder in the process.

“Fucking handcuffs,” he says, turning his cheek onto the pillow and trying to watch Harry out of the corner of his eye.

“You like it, though,” Harry says, and when Harry pulls the satin fabric of Louis’s panties aside and breathes hot over his hole, Louis can’t find the breath to disagree.

“Your _arse_ , Louis,” Harry squeezes one cheek, the whole bloody thing fits in her hand like it’s nothing, “is fucking _divine_.” She pulls the globe of flesh to the side and licks sloppy and wet over Louis’s rim. Louis puts his face into the pillow so that it can swallow his gasp, the crisp white pillowcase hiding the way his cheeks flush. It’s—he’s not fucking ready for this, is the thing, his cock barely has time to go down before Harry’s tongue starts darting into him and making him arch into the mattress while her fingers and the edges of the pulled-aside panties sink into the flesh of his arse, but when Harry stops for a second to get the lube from the dresser Louis whines because he’s not ready for her to stop, either. He’s fully hard by the time she’s slipping two fingers into him, smoothly breaking past the rings of muscle because he’s so turned on by the insistent not-quite-there-ness of Harry’s tongue inside him that his body has forgotten, among other things, that it’s not supposed to let anyone up there that easily.

Louis comes for the second time with Harry’s fingers buried deep inside him, her tongue laving over the place where they’re pressed into him. Come sticks against the red satin and Louis’s skin and it’s so dirty, how Harry dips his fingers under the waistband of his knickers and collects his come, Louis can _hear her sucking it off her fingers, Jesus_. Louis can barely breathe even before Harry pulls the panties to the side again and presses something slick and plastic to his rim, where on _earth_ did that come from?

Harry squeezes Louis’s arse and flicks on the vibrator, onto the lowest setting, but the buzz is _unbelievable_ when he’s already so sensitive and Louis gasps and arches his back so that he’s pressed closer against the sweaty sheets, pulling away instinctually. “ _God_ , I can’t,” Louis pants, “Harry, _Harry,_ I _can’t_.”

Harry pulls the vibrator away. They’ve talked about this. There is a limit, there must be, to how good Harry can make Louis feel, and as Louis clenches around nothing so hard it almost hurts, it feels like they must have reached it. But that’s the _point_ , isn’t it, to reach the limits of what he feels like he can bear and then go past them. Let Harry take him past them.

Harry runs a hand down Louis’s back. “Do you want me to stop?” she says quietly.

“No,” Louis says. He struggles to look over his shoulder at Harry but the cuffs make it hard to move, “no, please, green, just, I _can’t_ , green, _fuck_.”

“I think you can, Louis.” Harry keeps soothing his back, not long enough for him to really come down from his last orgasm but enough for him to feel like he can breathe. “Gonna turn you over again,” Harry says, bracing one hand on his back. “Want to see you when you come for me again.” This time Harry has to push him over, Louis can’t convince his body to roll on its own, but that makes it better, almost, how Harry just… takes him, takes care of him.

“Let’s get these off,” Harry says, kissing Louis’s stomach as she rolls the come-soaked red panties down Louis’s thighs. She pauses for a minute while they’re at his ankles, her eyes trailing up from them all over the length of Louis’s body, before she tugs them off his feet and tosses them to the ground. Somehow Louis feels even more overwhelmed now that his cock isn’t tucked away under silky fabric—he’s just, he’s _still_ so hard and there’s smudges of come on the head of his cock and on his thigh. Harry picks up the vibrator again and Louis’s so _open_ , he feels like he’s never been this naked before in his life.

Harry works the vibrator into Louis slowly, without turning it on, ducking her head down to suck a bruise into Louis’s hipbone while Louis tries to get his legs to stop shaking. It’s their purple vibe, six inches of smooth translucent plastic, not as wide as Harry but she knows exactly how to twist it to give Louis what he wants, only now he isn’t even sure he wants it. He doesn’t _not_ want it, but he feels like an overstuffed envelope or—or somebody who’s already come twice and is no good at similes.

When the vibe is seated in Louis up to the handle, Harry kisses the bruise she’d been sucking into Louis’s hip. She sits up and Louis sees immediately how hard she is, still in her black boyshorts, how dark her eyes have gone, and his head falls back against the pillow weakly. “Okay?” Harry says, taking his hand and squeezing it once.

Louis squeezes back. “Okay.” Harry flicks the vibrator on.

Louis immediately lets out a harsh groan as Harry rolls the vibe around inside him. It’s like—it’s like the buzz embodies all the feelings of overstimulation he’s had up till now and Harry is just, Harry is telling him that it’s _okay_ , it’s okay to just _feel it_. Harry pulls back and then fucks into him with the vibrator once, twice, and Louis feels the muscles in his arms relax, the fingers he had clenched into fists in the cuffs go loose, and he lets go of something he didn’t know he was holding onto.

Harry works up to a steady rhythm, pinching Louis’s nipples as the toy wrenches him open. Louis’s moaning from deep inside his chest but he barely hears it, it’s like all of his other senses have _shut down_ and his entire brain is chasing after the feeling of hard plastic reaching into the core of him, rushing to process it but never quite catching up with the pace as Louis’s legs fall open impossibly wider and Harry fucks into him without holding back.

“Want to see you come again,” Harry is saying. The hot bulge in her panties presses against Louis’s thigh as the vibrator hits his prostate and he _screams_. “Love it, love you so much, you’re so fucking hot, _god_.”

“I—“ Louis’s head rolls back onto the pillow and then back, his chin digging into his chest so hard it might bruise as Harry presses the vibrator against his prostate _hard_ and just barely keeps thrusting, “I—I—“

Louis comes for the third time with a shout that makes his throat go numb. He feels like his cock is exploding with it but it just twitches a little and the way his whole body tenses while only a few drops of clear-ish come dribble down his shaft makes him feel debauched like nothing else ever has. Harry pulls the vibrator out without turning it off and Louis’s thighs twitch as Harry’s fingers touch his rim delicately as she teases the toy out.

“God,” Harry says, “Jesus, Lou, _fuck_ , you look—“ Harry smooths her hand over Louis’s thigh as she pulls the vibrator our and sets it aside. “I’m— _Jesus Louis_ I wanna fuck you, oh my god you’re too, I _can’t_.” Harry squeezes her cotton-covered cock and squeezes her eyes shut.

Louis immediately agrees with the assessment, he—they _can’t_ , they’ve _never_ , this is only the third time Louis has ever come three times and he already feels like he can’t stand up, the other times he was sore for _days_. But Harry’s fingertip is nudging at Louis’s overstimulated hole like she can’t stop herself and Louis can’t stop the way his body pulls Harry in and maybe they can’t do this but they _need_ to. Harry doesn’t usually like to top on days she wakes up feeling girlish but something, something about _Louis_ has made her feel like she _needs_ to and, _shit_. “Harry,” Louis whimpers, and he’d forgotten about the handcuffs again until his hands twitch to go towards her and they stop him. He feels like he’s forgotten about _everything_ except the burning heat in his cock and the stretch of his arse and the heat of Harry’s legs against his, “god, please.”

“I can’t,” Harry whispers, “you’re so—I _can’t_ —“

“ _Please_ ,” Louis says, “ _please_.”

Louis is barely even conscious of Harry swearing and feeling around for the lube; he knows dimly she must be slicking herself up but his head is so heavy on the pillow and he can’t see, he’s not really conscious of anything except the tips of Harry’s finger stroking just inside Louis like he’s some kind of miracle. It feels like no time at all before Harry’s cock is taking the place of her fingers and it might be some kind of miracle, really, Louis can’t think of what else it could be as Harry slides into him perfectly, easily, but just big and hard enough for it to still feel like he’s going to overflow with the feeling of Harry inside him.

It doesn’t even feel _good_ , is the thing; it feels like he’s being smashed into a brick wall but it _feels_ and it’s, “ _Harry,”_ Harry pushing into him again and again and it’s too slow, Harry is _everywhere_ inside him on top of him gripping bruises into his hips _inside him_ but it’s too slow, it’s too _much_ and Louis needs needs _needs_.

Louis’s mouth is open but no sounds are coming out, his arms are shaking over his head but they aren’t going anywhere, his thighs are stretching up as Harry hikes his knees up to her chest, his legs are spreading out of their own accord as Harry’s finger nudges against where she’s pressed inside of him, and Louis feels like a glass of water that’s too full and just barely keeps from spilling over, until Harry just starts _laying it into him_. It’s so good Louis is screaming again, Harry is ripping screams out of him with her thrusts, _punching_ into his prostate every time and some tiny part of Louis’s brain is screaming that it _hurts_ but Louis has forgotten how to feel anything but _good_.

“Fuck,” Harry is _shouting_ , “fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” in time with her thrusts, “ _fuck, Louis_.”

Harry comes inside him and keeps shouting and keeps thrusting and Louis comes, _again_ , or—he doesn’t really come but he _does_. His whole abdomen clenches with it, his throat goes numb with it, his eyes and arms are droopy with the weight of it—his whole body buzzes with it, but Louis, finally, feels like that’s okay, that he’s okay, that he and it and everything is just enough.

 

###

 

It doesn’t happen the way anyone thinks it will. They’ve been making vague plans for ages and putting them off just as long: after the album, the next tour, the next contract. They have emergency tactics devised for a thousand different scenarios—a photo gets leaked, their phones get hacked, someone sells them out to the press. Deny, deny, deny, is what their publicists say, until you can’t anymore.

It happens while they’re at a concert, their second one in a row in a New Jersey stadium. Yesterday Harry was unbearably flirty, whispering in Louis’s ear and touching his wrists and singing all her lines to him, and in the morning they’d been called into a meeting to be yelled at and discuss who Harry would be taking with him on vacation in December.

Yesterday Harry was all coquettish, rolled shoulders and raised eyebrows and dirty smirks. Today he’s clumsy and boyish, jumping and flailing his arms and testing the limits of his hair product with how much he rocks his quiffed head back and forth. In a few hours Louis will be washing the product out of his hair, and Harry will smile at him exactly the way he’s smiling at the crowd right now, because Harry is who he is all the time and Louis loves him every single way.

There are people whose job it is to have plans for when Louis and Harry make eye contact for more than five seconds, but there’s a limit to what they can do, and it is surpassed when Louis walks up to Harry, still bouncing from his solo, pulls on his belt loop and says, “kiss me, right now.” Tomorrow they’re going to be shut up in their hotel room avoiding comments and calls and probably, _definitely_ the whole internet, but as Harry parts his lips and seals them again over Louis’s without a second thought, Louis doesn’t care about any of that, or the cameras, or the deafening screams, because they’ll be together.

**Author's Note:**

> so that's that. i won't say that i'll never write more genderfluid harry, but this is the emotional journey i needed to go on with harry and louis and that's the end. many, many thanks to the people who came on it with me. find me on tumblr if you wanna talk: [thepreviousquestion](http://thepreviousquestion.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Zabiorę cię do domu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039202) by [carietta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carietta/pseuds/carietta)




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